


Stand-Up Monster

by BooBalooPants



Category: Monsters Inc (2001)
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Awkward Flirting, SO MUCH AWKWARD, will they won't they
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 15:09:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17327300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BooBalooPants/pseuds/BooBalooPants
Summary: Awkward 'dates', wine and dancing! What could go wrong? Almost Sulley/Randall, that's what.





	Stand-Up Monster

**Author's Note:**

> old fic...don't even know when i wrote this thing.

"That sounds terrible. Please go on."

Randall leaned lazily back in his chair and wished he was somewhere else.

In truth, he did not want Mike Wazowski to 'go on' about anything. Ideally, he would have liked Wazowski to 'go on' and do something that'd be unspeakable to easily offended ears and sensitive minds.

But Celia was there, and Randall liked to think he could be a gent. Also, Celia might kill him.

Not only that, Randall had promised Sulley (yeah, he'd lost his mind) that he'd pretend to be interested in whatever Wazowski said to him tonight. It was all part of this radical 'getting a long' concept that Sulley kept unsuccessfully trying to pull.

Randall was sceptical, and just wished he'd give it up. It was far  _too_  radical.

"Are you even listening to me?"

"Yeah, obviously I am," Randall said, with maybe a bit too much indignance.

Mike didn't look convinced, not that Randall worried about that. He wasn't a very convincing pretender, to be fair.

It hardly mattered; Mike was talking again. Something about sushi and diapers. Not very important.

"He's not listening to you," Celia said.

"What? I am-" Randall began to protest, but was saved the trouble by Sulley himself.

The big lug stood awkwardly in the door frame, wearing a nervous grin and a shirt and tie.

"So...how'd I look?" he asked the room.

"I think you should lose the shirt and tie," Randall considered. "Maybe even burn them, just to be safe. I can help."

"I'll help too," Mike said solemnly, in a rare moment of agreement.

Sulley's shoulders sagged. "Ah. I'm no good at this. Maybe I should just forget the whole stupid thing, you guys."

"Don't be stupid," Celia jabbed Mike and Randall in the sides. "And pay no attention to these two. They are actual living morons. You look nice, Sulley."

"Nice?" Sulley raised a brow.

"I resent that," Randall said.

"What? He  _does_  look lovely."

"No, not that, the part about me being a moron."

"I'm sure you'll get over it," Celia sighed.

Randall sighed too. It wasn't fair. He'd wanted no part in this.

At no point in his life had he ever expected nor wanted to be preparing James P. Sullivan for a blind date, judge different suit and tie combinations, and listen to Mike Wazowski talk about diapers whilst Celia called him a moron. At no point in his life was this ever supposed to be.

As it happened, Randall had never expected to be on general speaking terms with James P. Sullivan, but now they were. They even lived together.

Randall wondered when it was that he'd stopped looking at Sullivan as extra cash for paying the monthly rent, and more an actual roommate. A friend even.

Nah, not really friends. Just guys who hung out sometimes.

"Sul, you don't wanna look  _nice_. You wanna look sharp, and smooth," Mike was looking over Sulley very critically.

"That's overrated," Celia said.

"Coolness is overrated? You fell for me, didn't you?" If he could've, Mike would have winked at his googly bear. Randall would've thrown up.

"Lucky she thinks that's overrated then," he smirked, and looked at Sulley, kind of hoping he'd agree.

It was hit and miss, usually.

Sometimes Sulley seemed to find Randall's taunts amusing. Other times not so much. Like the time Randall had told him that if it ever came to it, disposing of Wazowski's body would be a relatively quick and easy job, because he was small and round and very hide-able.

Sulley had told him never to talk about that again, and Randall had promised.

Of course he was still allowed to think about it.

Sulley rolled his eyes and grinned weakly at him.

"I'm never gonna be cool, you guys. I'm just...me," he shrugged. "And ties look too small on me," he pulled the offending item off his neck and brushed a hand through his quiffed hair (Randall thought that looked pretty okay). "I'm...not ready for this."

"You'll do fine," Randall told him, automatically.

He couldn't say for sure, though.

Realistically he thought Sulley might do badly because he was a giant dork who had zero experience when it came to dating. Randall only said he'd do fine because it seemed like the 'friend' thing to do. Or the _guys who just hung out_  thing to do.

"He  _will_  be fine. How could anyone resist your adorable face?" Celia said.

Randall could see she meant well, but then also the way Sulley's face dropped some more.

He sided up to Sulley, awkwardly patted his back.

"Yeah. just take that adorable face out there and knock em dead. Or something."

Mike checked his watch.

"We gotta go. I got the tables booked for 8 o'clock sharp," he linked an arm into Celia's.

Randall stepped back. It had been Mike's idea to double date, of course. Even though Sulley had never met this mystery monster before in his life, Mike had told him they should all go together, in case the date turned out to be a psychopath or something.

Randall had told all of them that it was a dumb idea, and he still believed it.

"This is a dumb idea," he told Sulley again, for good measure. "You know that Wazowski's gonna end up doing all the talking, and by the end of if your date is gonna remember more about his toilet habits than even your first name?"

"You're a dumb idea, Randall," Mike said, and lead Sulley easily to the door. "Let's get going, big guy. Your lucky monster awaits!"

Sulley spared Randall a silent  _save me_  look over his shoulder,and Randall shot back an equally silent  _your problem buddy. suck it up_  lookbefore returning to the couch.

"Have fun, Sul. Don't stay up too late, or I'll be out lookin' for you and embarrassing you in front of all your cool friends," he flicked on the tv remote, and then the door clipped shut.

Still, unable to help himself, Randall ran to the window and watched the weird threesome go downtown.

Mike and Celia arm in arm, and Sulley. Sulley and his quiffy hair and big paw feet and gait which was somehow cool because it wasn't.

Randall shook his head to himself. He hated those moments. When he realised that Sulley might be cool.

Yeah, sure he was a big dork, and he was clumsy and not especially witty, but he was...Sulley. And for some reason Randall could get along with that. And that was big news, because Randall didn't get along with much of anything.

He slunk back onto the couch and lay on it with a dramatic sigh. it was a Saturday night and he was languishing in front of some terrible looking horror film (the Night The Humans Came To Earth, Part 14) and he was thinking about Sulley and how cool he might possibly be.

"You are a loser, Randall. An incredible loser."

88

He was woken up by the sound of shuffling footsteps, like they were trying to be quiet but failing very badly, and then an apologetic voice;

"Sorry, didn't mean to wake you."

Randall rubbed his eyes and looked up at Sulley, and then the clock.

"Wow. Half an hour, huh? Did you accidentally eat your date? Or were they just  _that_ repulsed by you?"

Sulley sat on the nearby chair with a painful sort of smile. "Either might have been better. They didn't show up."

"Oh," Randall paused through a yawn. "So? They could be caught in traffic, or some emergency cropped up. Did you even check your voice mail?"

Sulley glanced over at the house phone as if it might be dangerous. "Nah."

Randall sat up properly. He didn't enjoy seeing Sulley sad. The thing was, he didn't think he'd ever get  _used to it_. It wasn't that he felt sorry for him, it was more the fact that it just  _looked wrong. T_ he way a cat dressed as a dog kinda looks wrong.

Sulley wasn't supposed to be sad. He was kind and cheerful and laid back, and he was supposed to cheer Randall up.

"Hey, cheer up," Randall ordered. "Could be worse. They could've eaten  _you_. Then how would you feel?"

"Digested, I guess?" Sulley said wryly.

Randall sniggered. It wasn't that he was glad Sulley had been stood up. He was just happy he was here now. It wasn't the same.

"So, uh. Didn't Wazowski attempt to get you to stay?" he tried to look concerned.

"Yeah, but after a while he and Celia seemed to forget I existed. As usually happens."

"Ah. The eternal third wheel, poor you. At least you're not the fourth forgotten wheel, punctured and flat, sitting at home all alone and watchin trashy horror movies."

Sulley smiled. "I did miss your complaining."

"I'm touched," Randall rolled his eyes, but was pleased to see the way Sulley's mouth curved up. It was better like that.

"Say, uh, this is gonna sound kinda weird," Sulley said, looking to the side, as if there was something more interesting there. Randall followed his gaze. He was looking at that horrible tie.  _Thank god_ he'd abandoned it.

"Whatever you say, I'm sure it's less weird than Fungus's Larping nights," Randall assured.

"Well, uh. Do you wanna go back to the restaurant with me? I mean, I still have the seats booked. Kind of a waste not to use them, you know? Free food and all."

Randall hesitated, not sure whether to be mortified or not.

On one hand, this was like...a date. With  _Sulley._

On the other hand; free food.

And what else was he going to do? Order take-out and lament his eternal loneliness whilst complaining about shoddy horror sequels?

"Why not? I had no plans besides lamenting my eternal loneliness and complaining about shoddy horror sequels, anyway," maybe he'd lost his mind.

Sulley's face brightened. "Great!"

He sprang off the couch like he'd been poked in the behind, and grabbed Randall's arm before Randall could reconsider how badly this might go.

"Let's go!"

8

Yeah, he'd definitely lost his mind.

The restaurant had a warm orange glow about it from the outside, and looking through the glass windows Randall could see couples and couples and more couples. Kissing and whispering far too close to each others faces, and even more kissing. Couples being couples everywhere.

This was typically Wazowski's kind of place, and Randall put it down as another reason to intensely dislike him (and justify potential murder).

Why couldn't he have picked a random bar? Somewhere low-key and...not couple-y?

They both stood at the door and paused. Sulley stepped forward, and Randall bumped into him.

"Hah, sorry," Sulley laughed, and sounded nervous. "Uh, let me get the door-"

"Are you joking?" Randall barged past him, flinging the door open for himself. "We're not a  _couple_ , Sullivan. You don't have to be a gentleman. I might throw up," he glanced over at the table in the far corner, where Mike and Celia were laughing, their faces very close together. "yeah, I will definitely throw up."

Celia spotted them first, and she waved, then whispered something at Mike.

Mike looked over and his eye seemed to bulge out a few sizes.

Ah, it was worth it. It was  _all worth it_  just for  _that face_.

Randall grinned widely, and wished he had a camera.

He grabbed Sulley's arm and hurried to the table next to them.

"Hey Wazowski, Celia. How's it going?"

Mike looked between Randall and Sulley as if processing the apocalypse. Then he spoke, in a hissed whisper which might as well have been a yell.

"Sulley...is...is Randall your _date_?!"

"Uh, actually-"

"Yeah," Randall said pleasantly. "We finally figured out our true feelings for each other, after all these crazy years, and now we're a couple. Isn't it beautiful?"

Celia beamed- "I knew-"

"It's okay, Mike. I'm just taking Randall out because I felt sorry for him wasting away in front of the TV every weekend," Sulley interrupted.

"I'm offended," Randall said, and flicked some bread in Sulley's face. "It's not _every_ weekend."

Sulley smirked behind his menu. " _Sorry._ "

"But really, what is the deal?" Wazowski didn't seem like he was going to stop looking like he was suffering PTS anytime soon. "Sulley. I hate to be...crass. But you can do  _way better_. And I'm not just saying that."

Randall was actually offended this time, but Sulley waved a paw, which was always a silent plea for  _no murders this evening, please_.

Randall had taken to actually listening to him about those kind of things lately (god knew why), so he just frowned and glared at his menu, pretending that it was Mike, and he was skewering him with a fork.

"I dunno, Mike. Randall is witty, funny...obviously not perfect. But everyone has room for improvement,"

Randall forgot thinking about destroying Mike with a fork, and peered over his menu at Sullley quizzically.

"You know I like fixing things," Sulley shrugged, in lame explanation.

"You like  _trying_ , and mostly  _failing_ , to fix things," Mike corrected. "remember that time you tried to make us up a set of shelves? When I got home I thought you'd created an elaborate tree house."

"I'm not a shelf," Randall felt it was necessary to say. "But yeah. Sullivan you're no good at fixing anything."

"That's not true," Celia said. "Sulley made us that spice rack, remember? For our anniversary."

"True, I guess," Mike didn't look convinced.

Randall shook his head behind the menu. It was true, Sulley had once made something which almost resembled a sad attempt at a spice rack. In the end he'd asked Randall what he thought of it and Randall had laughed and taunted him and fixed it up himself.

Sulley had said he'd tell Celia that Randall made it, but Randall had told him he'd kill him if he ever did that, so Sulley had kept his promise and took the credit, at least.

"The point is, Randall is not a spice rack," Mike said.

Randall nodded sarcastically.

"The greatest point you've ever made, Wazowski. I'm so proud of you."

Mike looked like he was going to say something (something not especially nice), but they were all interrupted by the cheery waiter who came to Sulley and Randall's table, asking what they'd like to order.

"Uh. Just give me the special," Randall said.

Randall wasn't very particular when it came to food, so long as it was edible, that was always a plus. That was lucky really, because although Sulley had his specialty dishes (ready meals), he wasn't much for cooking. But neither was Randall, so that was okay.

He remembered the first time he'd had a "proper" meal with Sullivan (weird how he remembered it). It had been breakfast; eggs and bread muffins and some greasy stuff that hadn't looked great but had tasted alright. Sulley had tried his best, Randall could tell. He'd even worn an apron.

They'd ended up arguing over who did the washing up, because Randall had wanted to say thanks for the food, but not in an obvious way (saying; 'thanks'), so he'd insisted rather aggressively that he would wash up, but had somehow upset Sulley, and they'd not spoken the rest of the day. It was stupid, but Randall still remembered it.

"Uh, I'll have the special too then," said Sulley. "and, ah, some...a drink?" he looked at Randall as if it might be terrible taboo.

Randall shrugged, hoping he looked nonchalant. Why did things have to get weird?

"I guess I'll have some wine."

Some ambient music was drifting suggestively round the room, and once again Randall was reminded of the potentially lethal situation he'd gotten himself into. He glanced to his side, to see that Mike and Celia had gotten back to their default state of gazing into each others eye.

Maybe free food wasn't really worth all of this trauma.

"So-ah-"

"I'm sor-"

Randall closed his mouth, gesturing Sulley to continue. "Ladies first."

Sulley laughed, nervously. "I didn't expect this place to be all...um..."

"Puke-inducing?" Randall offered, and grabbed a bread roll and savagely bit into it. Some distraction. He swallowed it a bit too quickly. "Yeah, this is kinda what I expected. With Wazowski and all."

"Heh. Yeah," Sulley played with his napkin. He always did annoying or endearing things (Randall couldn't decide which, it depended on his mood) like that when he was awkward. And that was most of the time, as it happened.

"Wait, are you telling me you didn't know about this place?"

"Well, no? Not really. It's not like I go out dating much, is it?"

Randall smirked around another bite of his bread roll.

"How would I know that? We've only been frie...I mean, we've only been living together a little while. Geez, now we  _do_  sound like a couple."

Sulley laughed, maybe too loudly. It wasn't really that funny. At least, Randall hadn't meant it to be.

He narrowed his eyes at Sulley.

"Y'know, you could be a real Casanova and I wouldn't know a thing about it, Sullivan."

"What?"

"Maybe that's what you are. You're living some scandalous double life, going to bars, picking up monsters. That sort of thing."

Sulley coughed, and Randall could tell he was blushing under all that fur. He'd shredded his napkin into tiny pieces on the table.

"You're terrible, Randall."

"I dunno. You seemed the type. I mean, when we were at university and stuff."

"You remember that?" Sulley sounded surprised. "I didn't know you...I mean-"

Randall rolled his eyes. "I know I was practically invisible to you, Sullivan. Lucky I actually  _was_  invisible, or I would've taken it personally."

"You did anyway."

"I can't help that you were a massive jerk."

"And you were a bitter pain in the ass," Sulley was smiling.

He never insulted Randall properly, which was really annoying.

Randall  _wanted_  to get angry at Sullivan sometimes, even now.

It had been way too easy before, when he didn't really  _know_  Sulley. It was easy to create an idea of someone, even if you knew, in whatever passed for your heart, that it probably wasn't true at all. And yet you could go along with it, because you'd never know any different, would you?

But Randall knew Sulley too well now. That was a problem. Randall kept meaning to try and figure that one out, but he'd not got round to it just yet.

"Your specials, and your wine," the waiter placed their dishes in front of them.

Randall wasn't sure what the special was, but he was hungry, so it didn't matter.

"Look...interesting." said Sulley. He poked it cautiously with a fork.

"Looks questionable," Randall corrected, and dug in.

It didn't taste too bad, but honestly he was more concerned about Sulley, who had taken to looking more awkward than usual, and all that did was make Randall feel awkward.

Ah, the awkward vicious circle of awkwardness. The things he did for free, questionable food.

"What's wrong, you loser?" Randall asked, after while.

"It's just," Sulley hesitated. He was looking at his meal like it was an old friend that'd just passed away. "I didn't mean to be a jerk. I'm sorry I was."

"What?" Randall took a moment to let the words sink in. Then he realised. "Sullivan. That was like a thousand years ago. I thought you'd be over it."

"Are  _you?_ " Sulley looked at Randall, and his eyes were unusually serious. It took Randall by surprise.

He studied his meal, only because it was easier.

"You know I'm a bitter pain in the ass."

He looked up, and Sulley didn't say anything, but he was smiling again. Somehow, it made Randall want to.

"Aw. You two sharing a romantic moment?" Celia sounded alarmingly hopeful.

Randall spared her a disgusted look. "Yeah. we're just talking about how he's a jerk and I'm an ass."

"A match made in heaven," Celia decided.

Mike frowned. "Please. I'm still eating," he glanced at Sulley. "You know, your date could still show up, right? Then they really _will_ think you're a casanova."

"Were you listening in on our conversation?" Randall asked, pretending not to care.

"Only the important bits."

"Wonderful," Randall took a large gulp of his wine. Alcohol might make dealing with Wazowski better. Then again it might also make him want to kill Wazowski. Randall was willing to take the gamble at this point.

Sulley hunched forward a bit, and his voice was lower. "I seriously doubt she'll show up now, Randall. It's been almost an hour."

Randall narrowed his eyes, swirled his wine glass around in his hand. He hoped he looked cool.

"I'll pretend to be your outraged lover," he decided. "and scare her away."

Sulley shook his head, but grinned. "I think she'd destroy you."

"Oh? I thought this was a  _blind date_? You don't even know what she looks like."

"I do know that she likes extreme sports," Sulley looked at the ceiling, as if recalling something entertaining. "Oh, and she runs an arm wrestling league and used to work at Scare Inc. She quit to take up wrestling."

Randall stared at him. "You're winding me up."

"Okay, maybe a bit. But the extreme sports thing is true, apparently."

Randall felt himself laughing at that. "you think you'd go in for these extreme sports too?"

"Maybe? I'm game for anything."

"Anything?" Randall laughed again. "You and bungee jumping. I'll pay to see that."

"You just want to see what my face looks like when I think I'm about to die."

"Harsh. But true."

There was a small silence, but it wasn't awkward. At least, Randall didn't feel awkward. It felt more like hanging out at the apartment, and those times when Randall seriously considered Sulley might be a pal.

"So. How'd you even get this failed date, anyway? Did Wazowski set you up? That would explain the failed part."

"No, it was Fungus, actually,"

Randall startled at the name. He couldn't help it. Fungus was a rare friend, and it was always weird to remember that Sulley knew him too.

"Fungus?" Fungus may have been a friend, but he was also a massive nerd even by nerd terms. "You do know that Fungus is...Fungus?"

"He seemed sure we;d get on," Sulley said, and then looked contemplative. "or...he might've just been feeling bad for me. It was around valentines day."

"Fungus feels bad about everything, don't take it seriously."

"He might not feel so bad if you treated him better,"

"I treat him fine. He knows I'm an ass and I know he doesn't mind. It works out."

Sulley looked amused. "Kinda like us, hm?"

"If you don't mind. I guess so."

"I guess I don't," Sulley took another drink of his wine, and Randall noticed how much more relaxed he looked. It suited him; there were shades of his jerkish jock self somewhere in there coming through. Okay, maybe not a complete jerk, just very confident, and self assured. That wasn't a bad thing, obviously.

And it did look good on Sullivan.

"Y'know, you were never really that big of a jerk at university," he wasn't sure why he was telling Sulley that now, but there it was.

Sulley blinked. "You don't think?"

"Nah. Johnny was the biggest jerk. King jerk. I made it official, just now, in my mind."

"I'll tell him, next time I see him. I'm sure he'll be pleased."

Randall thought he probably would be, but didn't bother voicing it. Johnny made him feel queasy, and wasn't a good combination with food and Sullivan.

"'You gonna eat that?" Sulley was looking at his plate.

"You can have it."

"Thanks," Sulley said, and stabbed his fork ungracefully into whatever was left on Randall's plate.

Randall took the moment as an opportunity, and grabbed Sulley's paw.

Sulley dropped the fork in an instant, and looked at him with wide eyes.

"Uh-I thought you didn't want it-"

"Let's arm wrestle," Randall told him.

"What?"

"An arm wrestle.  _Then_ you can have it."

Sulley raised a brow, "Are you-"

"Just in case your date is an arm wrestler," Randall explained. "I need to be prepared, right?"

Sulley's mouth slide into a smile.

"Are you sure you want this humiliation, Randall?" and he put his arm on the table anyway, raising his hand, posed and ready.

Randall grinned, taken by Sulley's playful face. He stomped his admittedly weedy elbow on the table opposite Sulley's, undeterred. "I will destroy you."

Sulley mirrored his grin. "Good luck."

As their hands clamped together, Randall knew he was going to lose. Of course he would, and it was weird because he didn't even care. For once he would lose and it wouldn't matter, but only because this was Sulley. Losing didn't matter when it was Sulley, and yet winning only mattered when it was Sulley.

It was complicated like that.

There were only a few seconds, and then a resounding thud, and Randall, as well as a few others in the room, looked at Sulley's hand pinning Randall's easily on the table.

"They're holding hands," Celia beamed. "How precious."

"Disturbing," said Mike, "Very disturbing."

"It's okay, I was just destroying him in an arm wrestle," Sulley said, and his hand twitched in Randall's for seconds which felt much longer, and Randall thought he could get used to fur and warmth like that, maybe.

Then their fingers unlocked and fell away, and Randall felt kind of dizzy.

Too much wine.

"I told you it'd be humiliating," Sulley sounded almost apologetic.

"I let you win. I felt bad for you."

"You're such a gentleman."

"I  _am_ ," Randall downed the rest of his wine, and sleeked a hand through his fronds, somehow needing to compose himself. Maybe having fun with Sullivan was a health hazard. Randall wasn't sure when it was that his stomach had gotten so light and...butterflies?

No.  _No_.

"We're going, you guys," it was Mike's voice. He was looking between them as if they were both his disappointing children. Next to him, Celia's grin looked like it might extend off her face.

"You boys play nice. No fighting."

"Do I ever?" Randall said angelically. "Sweet dreams, you two."

"Sul, if he tries anything, just call me. I'll do whatever has to be done," Mike whispered loudly.

Sulley patted his head; "Goodnight, Mike."

Randall watched them leave, and then another couple, and another. And then the bar was quiet and Randall realized that he'd been sitting with Sulley far longer than constituted sensible eating time, but since when was there a rule for that?

And Randall didn't really mind. He was enjoying watching Sulley talk about things whilst he idly jabbed his fork at the leftovers on his plate.

"...so, I kept walking around the room thinking, what the heck scares this kid, anyway? That was when Mikey told me to do that..." Sulley trailed off, and looked around the bar, as if he'd been woken from a weird dream. "Um...shall we head back?"

"Unless you think Extreme Sports is gonna turn up. I'd say that's a good plan."

Sulley stood up, and then in an odd motion, offered a hand to Randall.

Randll looked between it and Sulley, then pulled a face.

"You're ridiculous, Sullivan."

He took the hand anyway, but didn't hold onto it too long.

He did let Sulley hold the door open for him this time, though.

88

"You want a drink?"

"Why not?"

Randall jumped up with a little more enthusiasm than he would've liked and investigated the kitchen.

He cracked open a bottle of wine he'd been thinking about for a couple of weekends now. He'd had it hidden away in a cupboard for ages, and every now and then he wondered about what special occasion he could finally open it on.

Well, he was being social on a Saturday night. It didn't get much more special than that.

"Cheers, fur rug," Randall handed Sulley a glass with a grin.

"Thanks," Sulley said, and sunk back in his chair and sunk the glass with it.

Randall stared. "You're gonna have a mother hangover tomorrow, Sullivan."

Sulley wiped his mouth, his smile somehow more relaxed, and his eyes heavy lidded.

"I'm fine. I can handle my drink fine. Just fine."

"Fine," Randall repeated. "I get the  _fine_ picture."

He watched Sulley with a smirk.

No way could Sulley handle his drink. Randall had only caught him on a couple of occasions, but both times he had witnessed a drunk Sulley would be forever forged and scarred within Randall's memory.

The first time had been at Mike's cousin's wedding, when Sulley had underestimated the amount of alcohol in the punch. Bizarre dancing and attempts to make Randall dance just as bizarrely had followed. Randall remembered telling him he was an idiot, and Sulley had laughed and said something like "that's why you like me".

The second time was a much hazier memory, only because Randall had been kind of drunk too (okay, maybe _a lot_  drunk). They'd decided to deny their ages for the night and go into some trendy young monster club, which consisted mostly of fit inducing lights and bass beats that made Randall's skull vibrate right into next week.

There Randall had witnessed Sulley throw up, and Randall had got him back by throwing up too. They'd left the club in an undignified mess, and Randall had made Sulley carry him all the way home.

He never remembered anything after that, and maybe that was for the best.

Randall blinked doubtfully at his glass of wine. Maybe alcohol wasn't a good idea.

He looked at Sulley;

"Remember that time you got really drunk and tried to make me dance and I nearly killed you?"

"Ah, yeah, I sure do," Sulley smiled easily at him. "if I remember right though, you were a pretty good dancer."

"I didn't even dance."

"I thought you did," Sulley looked at the ceiling for an answer. "Maybe that was Fungus."

"How many monsters did you dance with anyway?"

Sulley's mouth curved into a smirk. "Do you care?"

Randall felt hot, but it was obviously the wine.

"Don't flatter yourself. Casanova."

"...well, I remember thinking you're probably a good dancer, if nothing else," Sulley said, as if he hadn't heard him. He looked thoughtful, but not in a good way. More like he was considering something diabolical. "How about we try it now?"

 _Truly_  diabolical.

"How about we  _don't_?" Randall told him at once.

Sulley got off the couch and almost tripped in his journey to the stereo player. There were a bunch of CD's piled up near to it.

Randall narrowed his eyes as some sentimental notes escaped the speakers, and Sulley turned round with a grin so cheesy it made Randall recoil.

"You are crazy," Randall said. "if you think I'll do this,"

Sulley pouted playfully.

"You're no fun," and he strode up to Randall anyway, extending an arm in a surprisingly graceful motion.

Randall looked at it with incredible distrust.

"C'mon, something simple. The waltz, maybe?"

Randall continued to stare at the outstretched hand. "Waltz?"

How had it gotten to this point? How had it gotten to listening to bad ballads and staring at old rivals in a little apartment and then wondering if he could viably remember the steps to the waltz?

Before he could properly deliberate those questions, a large hand curled round his own, and pulled him up.

They stood, not very close, actually a good metre away from each other, but it was still incredibly awkward and horrific.

Randall did his best to look indignant.

"So what? Are you gonna woo me now?" he hoped his sarcasm was coming through. Dear god, he  _hoped._

"Hah, if you like," and Sulley moved an arm easily around his slender back, closing the gap up, just a bit. "You need to get closer, though."

"Sure."

The heat round Randall's back was different, and for some reason it felt like his heart was going to beat out of his chest as he stepped forward.

It wasn't that excited, breathless feeling, like butterflies or whatever. Nah, this was more like an aliens exploding out of your chest sort of feeling. Like those few seconds just before you throw up and make an undignified mess of yourself.

Not that Randall wasn't used to making an undignified mess of himself in front of James P. Sullivan, in any way.

"Randall? Are you okay?" Sulley was looking at him oddly.

Oh yeah, he needed to talk again.

"Amazing, Sullivan. Really amazing."

Sulley smirked in an exasperated kind of way. Randall didn't care because he always enjoyed pulling that kind of emotion from Sulley's endlessly patient face. It was like cracking through to the unknown. Kind of like when he saw Sulley mad. It was rare, and it made Randall curious to know him a bit better, he supposed.

There had only been one time in recent memory that Randall could recall Sulley being very angry. It wasn't because of small human children (disgusting), or a sad phone call from a close friend or relative, or anything like that.

Sulley had been yelling at him, and it'd been dark and cold, and Randall couldn't remember very much.

He never thought very much about his unofficial 'banishment', and he never remembered very much about it. But he always remembered Sulley being there. He'd never forget.

"You're drunk, I knew it," Suelly said, and suddenly sounded a lot closer, and way too pleased with himself. "You always get spacy when you're drunk."

"You're insane," Randall gripped Sulley's shoulder, only because Sulley seemed to be doing the same with him. Two could play at this...game?

Jeez. What even was this?

"Weren't you gonna show me your dance moves?" he nodded over Sulley's shoulder, as if the stereo might answer him instead. Maybe save him from whatever mess he'd got himself into.

The music slowed some more.

No such luck.

"What is this? Does your music collection comprise solely of really bad slow eighties ballads? I'm disappointed and sickened."

"I put it on random," Sulley shrugged. "Actually this is Mike's collection. He's still got a lot of stuff to pick up."

Randall sighed melodramatically. "Wazowski is never gonna leave. You're still more or less married."

Sulley looked amused. At the same moment Randall felt the arm on his back pushing him forward. He steeled himself, but still managed to face-plant into Sulley's unnecessarily fluffy chest.

"Urgh. Watch it, you big lump of muscle."

"Heh, sorry," Sulley did look apologetic. "Don't know my own strength."

"I _know_ ,"

But Randall was finding it more and more difficult to remember to be annoyed. Especially when Sulley had taken to adjusting his weight from paw to paw, like he was rocking back and forth, kind of slowly, in front of him.

Randall realized he was _dancing_ , only it was clumsy and bad and there was no rhythm to it at all.

"Yeah, you really are the worst dancer in the entire universe."

Sulley laughed; "At least no potential dates are seeing this."

"True, true," Randall nodded, and found himself following Sulley's plodding steps too, trying (and it was impossible) to follow his "rhythm". "I can tell you now, any potential date would be mocking you at this point, and telling you that you really are the worst dancer in the universe."

"I'm not gonna argue with that," there was a note of the morose in Sulley's voice, and Randall looked at his eyes and saw they were soft and kind, and he didn't really deserve to be teased.

Sulley was a good guy, everyone knew it. _Randall_  knew it. He didn't deserve to be stood up tonight. And more importantly he deserved a really good monster to dance with.

"You giant idiot," Randall said, and gripped Sulley a bit tighter.

"Charming, Randall. Very charming."

"I mean, you won't get a date with that loser attitude. So show me your moves."

"These _are_  my moves," Sulley's shoulder's shook with more laughter, and Randall clung onto him some more, enjoying the vibrations, and then the way his mouth settled into something else.

This was the safe feeling, the feeling that Randall found he craved at weird hours and when he knew that he'd had a glass too much to drink. It only happened with Sullivan, though.

Randall bowed his head a bit, catching the tickle of Sulley's fur on his fronds, and also the strong scent of some obnoxious aftershave.

"Did Wazowski pick that one out for you?" he asked Sulley's chest.

"Is it that obvious?" Sulley knew what he was talking about. "I'm not much for this kind of thing..."

Randall smirked. "Self-grooming?"

"No, I mean...argh. Shut up, Randall."

"Heh," Randall shook his head. "I'd hope you wouldn't be treating your potential date this way. Cos by this point, I'd be slapping you and slamming the door behind me right now,"

"Lucky it's just you then, isn't it?" Sulley said. He sounded different, but Randall didn't want to lift his head to know why.

He kept his eyes on Sulley's 'dancing' feet instead.

"Guess I must like you too much then," he meant to sound sarcastic, but it didn't really come out like that. "Either that or I'm easy."

"Was there a compliment hidden in there, somewhere?" Sulley's voice was closer, and it made Randall's back prickle.

Randall lifted his head, and found himself forgetting all intent to snap and tell Sulley not to be such an idiot.

"Just don't tell anyone I said that," he said instead. "in fact, lets not tell anyone  _ever_  anything about this night  _ever_ -"

Sulley's hand caught his jaw, effectively shutting him up.

"It's okay," Sulley said. "and Mike isn't right about everything, you know."

Randall blinked, feeling inexplicably shy. And then aware of the distance between them becoming very blurred.

It was good to know that Wazowski wasn't always right, but better that Sulley was the one who said it, and Sulley was _here_ , telling him that  _right now_ , with his kind eyes and warm fur. Close enough that Randall could see himself reflected in those blue eyes, and then heated breath...

Randall tilted his head, and closed his eyes, and the heat became a new and solid sensation for just a second-

BEEP BEEP BEEP.

Randall staggered back, tail hitting the nearby table, and Sulley nearly falling on top of him.

Randall blinked at the phone, ringing loudly between them.

A sudden clarity returned to him, like a light being switched on in a darkened room. He pulled roughly away from Sulley.

"Randall-"

"Don't-"

Another voice interrupted them both, on the voice mail. It was warm and nervous and very apologetic;

"Hey, uh...so this is Chrissie...Oh gosh. I'm so sorry...I totally stood you up. James, isn't it?...it's okay to call you James? I uh. Anyway I am so sorry. I think we got some wires crossed...I think that Jeffrey told one of us the wrong night, or something...I...I hope we can give it another go, alright?"

The voice mail cut off abruptly, and Randall and Sulley stared at it like it might come alive for a few moments.

It was surreal, like the dust had settled after a fight that had obviously never happened, and Randall was still getting his bearings. Trying to remember how and why Sulley was so close to him.

Sulley's hand reached out to his own, and Randall arced back, avoiding it.

"Um, you better-you better get that," Randall said.

Sulley's face fell, along with his hand, as if he'd been told something much more disappointing.

Randall ignored it. It would have been too difficult, otherwise.

He reached over to the phone and picked it up. He handed it to Sulley with something he hoped was a smirk.

"What're you waiting for? Don't keep Extreme Sports waiting, you dork."

Sulley stared at the receiver in Randall's hand for what seemed an unnecessarily long amount of time.

Then he took it, and looked at Randall wryly.

"Thanks."

Randall's throat felt tight, as he quickly uncurled himself from his compromised position between Sulley and the phone.

He stalked across the room and leaned against the doorway, feeling strange as he watched Sulley press redial on the phone.

"It's ringing," there was an edge of excitement in Sulley's whisper.

Randall folded his arms and shook his head. He glanced at the floor and noticed a familiar atrocity lying there.

"Hey. Just promise me one thing, Sullivan."

"Huh?" Sulley looked mostly interested in listening to the ring of the phone. "What's that?"

Randall chucked Sulley's tie on his head. "Don't wear this thing on your next date. Definite mood killer."

Sulley adjusted the tie slightly around his head, so that it looked like a goofy kind of headband. He grinned at Randall. "Thanks for the tip."

Randall found himself grinning back, because it was easy when he looked at Sullivan like that. He opened his mouth, wanting to say something else; he wasn't sure what, but then Sullivan spoke again, and this time he wasn't talking to Randall anymore.

"H-Hey, Chrissie! It's me, Sulley...er, or you can call me James. I mean, if you like. I don't mind..."

Randall slunk out the room, the sound of Sulley's rambling voice becoming quieter and then silence.

Somewhere at the back of his mind, Randall was actually happy for Sulley.

But his heart hurt, and a free meal had not warned for anything like that.

"Probably just indigestion," he decided.

He thought that maybe next time he'd tell Sulley not to bother calling back, and then they could finish their dance properly.

 

 


End file.
